Art Appreciation
by ThePerfidiousAlbion
Summary: Belle is in charge of putting on a black-tie art show at the library. When Gold arrives, it leads to lots of teasing, but for some reason, he can't convince Belle to leave early. Fluffy bit of Storybrook-based Rumbelle smut which largely ignores Season 3 events.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I neither own nor profit from OUAT.

* * *

Gold pushes through the wide double doors, letting a blast of cold air into entryway of the Storybrook library. The crowd of townspeople thins around him as he shakes snow off his coat. He peels off the damp article and drops it on the counter by the book return, where some teenage girl is checking coats. She jumps.

"Mr. Gold!" she stammers, scrambling to pick up the coat. "W-welcome. I'll have this here–" He cuts her off with a quick gesture.

"Fine. And tell your father I'll be by in the morning for the rent." The girl nods dumbly as he makes his way past a sign on an easle which announces the name of this function in neat gold letters.

"Rumple!"

He whirls at the voice, his cane almost skittering out from under him on the smooth marble floors. He catches sight of her and the breath in his chest tightens. Belle looks absolutely stunning. The floor-length, royal blue dress is slit to the knee and fits her like a glove. There is a small, jealous part of him that wishes the neckline didn't plunge quite so low – at least while they were out in public – but with a strange thrill of pride he notices that she is wearing the diamond necklace he gave her. Belle rushes to him in a quick click of stilettos and takes both his hands in her own before standing on tiptoe and kissing his cheek. "I'm glad you could make it," she says with a smile.

"Of course," he answers, his face softening into a genuine smile of his own. "Wouldn't miss the…" He trails off and gestures vagely with one hand.

"First Annual Storybrooke Art Gallery and Exhibition," she recites proudly, then jabs at his elbow with a wide smile. "You should remember – you're one of the main sponsors."

"Yes of course," he repeats. "But only because you can wring blood from a stone."

"I was only helping remind you of your civic responsibilities," she teases. She takes his arm and walks them into the gallery, guiding them around other couples.

"Yes of course, my lady mercenary," he smirks, but her own wry smile threatens to crack through even that feeble attempt. They round the corner and he attempts another route. "Belle, you look…fantastic."

"You think so?" she says brightly, pulling away and twirling so he can see.

He sucks in a breath, eyes lingering. "Very much so." A waiter passes close by and he plucks a flute of champagne from the tray and presents it to her with a flourish.

She smiles, curtseying as much as she can in those heels and dress. His hand is still braced on his cane – these are the peculiarities of this realm, after all. But as she takes the glass from him, her fingers brush over his, and despite himself he grins. He gives a half-bow as they make their gesture to the old world, to remaking the past in a new and better light.

She tosses back the champagne and takes his arm again, eager to show off her hard work. He allows her to lead him around, her eyes shining as she grips his sleeve a little tighter to point out another detail. He has to admit that the hall is stunning. It actually looks like a real art gallery. The transformation she has wrought on this... backwater… almost puts him to shame, even with his magics. In fact…he frowns.

"Belle, darling, is that _fairy_ I smell?"

She gives her glass to a waiter and squeezes her hand gently on Rumple's arm. "Just a little. Leroy knows an ameniable nun."

"The angry dwarf's sweetheart?" he scoffs.

"She was quite helpful!" Belle ducks her head to hide a smile. "Besides, how else were we going to move seventeen rows of shelves overnight? Now come over here, there's a painting I like."

She keeps her arm loosely wound through his and leads them through the main exhibition room. Tonight, this is her world, her sparking event, and she is wearing his necklace and teetering slightly on ridiculous heels, but still she holds on to him. They weave through the crowd and he catches a glimpse of their reflection in the tall window. The glare from the snow outside helps erase the rest of the gallery, and it is just the two of them in the glass. For a moment he is pleased by the glamorous reflection. His impeccable suit, glittering with gold tie pin and cuff links, is almost a fitting compliment to the sleek and stunning creature on his arm. Most of the men in town know not to stare to openly, but now, he thinks with the hint of a dangerous smile, he almost wishes they would.

She stops them in front of a painting and lets out a little breath, clearly enraptured. It's a standard still life – a vase of flowers, a twisted branch, and a seashell arranged on a crumpled green cloth. Gold glances subtly at some of the other paintings, and judges this one not much more than maginally better. He leans in close to Belle's ear.

"What am I supposed to see?" he whispers. The brushwork is clumsy, the shadows incomplete, and there's something subtly off with the perspective.

"There," Belle points, leaning toward him. "She wore a dress that color green the first time she saw him. That shell is like the one he brought back from a long journey and gave to their daughter. He gave her those flowers at their wedding and every spring for forty years after." She sqeezes his arm with a small sigh. "She painted everything she loves."

He puts his hand over hers. "Who, darling?"

"Her name is Evelyn. She comes with her husband to the evening art classes in the library."

"Well I've certainly seen _worse_," Gold says, tilting his head towards a particularly dreadful portrait to their left. "What's the stick for? Did her twue wuv give her that, too?"

"I think she uses it to beat off art critics!" Belle laughs, tugging him to another painting. As she does so, her chest brushes subtly against his arm, and he has to repress a shudder. She can so easily undo him."Can you try to behave?" she continues, showing no sign of noticing his inner turmoil. "I'll bet you can't find one nice thing to say about anything in here."

"Wrong. That dress is very becoming."

Belle rolls her eyes. "I meant about the art, Rumple."

"So far, that's the only piece of art I've seen." He stops them in front of a large metal sculpture on a stand. "There! That looks…..sturdy."

"How is that nice?" she laughs.

"It's a compliement!" He gestures toward the identification card on the stand. "Widow Lucas is a skilled welder. Even if it looks like a bloody mess."

Belle grins and leans forward to read the card. "'Untitled with Rake'?" She throws a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. "What does that even mean?" As she straightens, her breast brushes against his arm again. He tightens his hand on his cane, wishing she would be more careful.

She glances up at him and smirks, which makes him think that maybe she knows exactly what she's doing. He tilts his head to whisper in her ear. "While the efforts here are impressive, dear, there's still only one piece of art I'm interested in."

Belle pulls away from him slightly, clicking her tongue. "Tsk, don't be so hasty, Rumple. The night is young, and there are many, _many_ things you haven't seen yet."

His jaw hangs slack a moment before he recovers his composure, but not before she notices. Her eyebrows arch knowingly. She gives him a sly grin and starts toward another room of the gallery. "Come on. There are some fascinating paintings this way."

"Oh, I'll bet there are," he says, letting his eyes sweep over her as she gets a few paces ahead of him. "Many…beautiful works of art."

She pretends not to hear him, instead coming to a stop in front a large black and white photograph of dark cloth wrapped around a woman's arm. "Here. I like this one."

He comes up close behind her, ignoring the polite crowds shuffling around. " lines are all wrong."

She looks up over her shoulder. "Oh?"

"Yes. It's a sloppy composition." He reaches his arm over her shoulder to point. "There. The lines should be more…subtle." He brings his hand back, brushing the hair away from her neck before tracing his fingers down her spine. She shudders, almost imperceptibly, and leans back against him. "And look at her hand," he continues, curving his free hand along her side to rest on her waist. "Don't you think there should be a little more tension in the fingers?"

"Perhaps," she says, turning from his touch to face him. Her tone is casual, but her eyes are a little too wide and her cheeks are faintly flushed. "Although I wonder what qualifies you to be such an art critic."

He steps back, tilting his head and offering his arm like a gentleman. "I thought you would have realized by now – I am a man of exceedingly refined tastes."

"That remains to be seen," she says enigmatically. She takes his arm again, leading them to another painting. When she stops them in front of it, she brushes her chest against his arm again and he tightens his hand on his cane.

"Belle—"

She shushes him, lifting her head to whisper in his ear. "This one is my favorite. Look." He glances down as she speaks, admiring the view her position affords. She swats his arm. "Not at _me_. Look."

Gold drags his eyes up reluctantly. She's brought them to a huge painting that takes up most of the wall. It's made up of twelve different panels, each obviously painted by a different hand. A large copy of an original that he doesn't immediately recognize.

"_The Kiss_," Belle supplies. "By Gustav Klimt. The evening art class worked on it."

It's an imperfect reproduction, but the painting is recognizable – the couple in the middle locked together before a spangled golden background, a cloud of flowers and vines below them.

"Right there," she says, pointing to a panel in the corner that's rather heavy with gold leaf. "That one's mine."

He glances at her in surprise. "You're in on this too?"

"I started coming to some of the classes."

"It's lovely." He reaches for her hand and impulsively pulls it to him,kissing their twined fingers.

"What happened to the cynical art crtic?" she asks with a soft smile, tugging his hand to start them walking again. She quickly settles on his arm.

"I know beauty when I see it," he says quietly as they move away from the murmuring crowds. "I told you, I am a man of refined tastes."

"Hmm, I don't believe you."

"No?" He glances down, doing his best to look affronted.

"No. I think your tastes are …" She smiles up at him wickedly, sqeezing his hand and pressing against his arm. "More base. More raw. What do you say to that?"

"I'd say that I'm not the one who's been teasing all night," he whispers into her ear.

"You noticed?"

He chuckles and tugs her close. "I'm lame, Belle, not stupid. Or blind. Now come on." He leads them down the hall from the main gallery.

"What is it?"

"A private lesson in art appreciation," he says in a low voice, ducking around a corner. He abruptly backs her against the wall and she gasps, a grin spreading across her face.

"There's no art out here," she whispers, fingerings his lapel. He grinks wickedly, leaning on his cane to push closer to her.

"How wrong you are. That dress….." He places his hand on her hip, curling his fingers slightly against the material.

Her smile widens, and she tugs his jacket to bring him in close. Her lips meet his, slow and lingering. His eyes slide closed and his hand shifts on her hip. She tastes like champagne, and bubbles thorugh his veins the same way."The dress is nothing," she whispers against his lips, wrapping her arms around his neck. "The real art is on underneath."

He growls in response, pressing her back more against the wall and crushing his mouth aginst hers. His arm curls around her waist, and she makes a small sound in the back of her throat.

"Rumple…" she breathes, tipping her head back and allowing him to kiss down her neck. He stops at the circle of diamonds falling over her collarbone. _His_ diamonds, that she wore for everyone to see. He scrapes his teeth gently against her skin, half wondering what else she was wearing.

"Belle, darling," he whispers against her neck, his hand tugging the material at her hip. "This has been a lovely evening, but wouldn't this best be continued at – ah – at home?"

"Mmm," she purrs, dragging one hand down his jacket. "Yes, yes that's a great idea, but –" she fishes a hand inside his jacket. He squirms beneath her hand until she pulls back quickly. "No."

"No?"

"No," she repeats, punctuating it with a quick kiss. "Because I'm supposed to give the welcome speech in –" she sneaks a peek at the pocket watch she'd pulled from his jacket. "About twenty minutes. No time for home."

"No," he says, nuzzling beneath her jaw. "I suppose not."

She sucks in a little breath. "No. But there is time for…." She snaps the pocket watch closed. "Here."

Gold lifts from her neck, raising one eyebrow and glancing around. "Oh?" Belle blushes.

"Not here, here," she stammers. "I meant, take this." She shoves the watch back into one of his pockets and untangles herself from him. He pulls back with a frown, but she pushes off the wall and follows him, lifting up on her toes to plant a little kiss at his jaw. "Come on," she whispers, reaching for his hand. "Private lessons." She pulls him down the hall as a knowing grin spreads across his face.


	2. Chapter 2

She leads them past three doors and pushes open the fourth. "What is this, then?" he asks, keeping hold of her hand as she pulls away. She flicks on a light and steps back to his side.

"A good place for private lessons," she murmurs, carding her free hand through his hair. "Otherwise known as the break room."

"Lovely," he chuckles, looking over the threadbare couch and mismatched chairs around a paint-stained kitchen table. "Well, my dear, shall we start the less—" He stops abruptly when she tugs his hair and crushes her mouth to his.

"No time," she whispers breathlessly. "Just come here." She shifts her hand to his tie and pulls him along as she steps backwards, toward the couch. He comes at her eagerly, but she has pulled him off balance and he stumbles, his cane clattering to the floor. Her rear bumps against the arm of the sofa. She grabs his forearms and tries to support him just as he draws up a rapid coil of magic to keep from falling – the result of which is to overbalance him further. He curses and plops heavily onto the couch cushions, pulling her off the armrest to fall sideways into his lap, her legs still draped over the arm of the sofa. "Rumple!" she exclaims, all traces of seduction gone from her voice. "Oh gosh, I'm so sorry –" She tries to sit up, but he wraps his arms around her waist, holding her fast.

"See, darling, this is why home is better." He nuzzles her hair.

"You're alright though?"

"Perfectly fine," he assures her, drawing one hand slowly up her ribs. From over the side of the couch, one of her shoes drops to the floor. "But I seem to remember a more comfortable couch somewhere else…" He tightens one hand on her waist and with the other tips her face to him. She lifts her head and meets his lips, kissing him deeply. He pulls back just enough to speak. "Or a very much more comfortable bed…?" He hears her chuckle and drop her other shoe.

"I promise I'll make it worth your while," she says laughingly, wrapping her arms around his neck with a grin, "if you stick around just a little longer."

"Deal," he grins, pulling her close.

He kisses her again but she pulls quickly away, swinging her legs over the armrest and slipping off his lap to sit beside him. Her back is to him. "Zipper?" she asks over her shoulder.

He leans forward to kiss her neck as he draws the zipper slowly down, exposing pale shoulder blades and the back of a bra that looks black and lacey and dangerous . As he reaches the small of her back he pauses, tracing little patterns with his fingertips. She surprises him by reaching behind her and deftly unhooking the bra before he has a chance. She slips the sleeves and straps off her arms. "I'd hoped to see that," he pouts, curling his hand around her waist and dripping kisses down her bare back as she tosses the bra away. He glances up with longing as it lands on one of the kitchen chairs. She shifts on the couch, pulling her knees under her to kneel facing him, arms demurely crossed to cover herself. The diamonds circling her neck glitter as dangerously as her eyes.

"Well if you preferred I retrieve it…"

"Don't you dare," he snarls, shrugging out of his suit jacket. She grins and leans in to him, resting both hands on his chest and kissing him eagerly. He shakes off the jacket and curves one hand at her shoulder, easing her back just enough for him to kiss down her neck. He skips over the diamonds, leaving trails of soft kisses across the swells of her breasts instead. Her breath hitches, fingers tightening on his shirt as he drops lower, dragging his bottom lip gently over her hardened peak, making her gasp. He ghosts his hands down her bare sides before bunching them in the pooling fabric of her dress. She tugs his tie loose and finds the buttons on his shirt, freeing one, two, three, before she lowers her head, kissing down his throat. He feels the sensation down through his belly, his cock twitching as he tugs the dress up her thighs. She swings one leg over his in response, dragging her hand down his chest.

"Vest," she mumbles, shifting along his leg and trying not to pull from their kisses. Her hands are clumsy and he brings his hands up with hers, slipping the buttons free with little effort. "Why are you always wearing so many clothes?" Belle complains, finally slipping the vest from his shoulders.

He doesn't want to answer, so he kisses her again, dragging his hands up her sides and cupping her breasts. She gasps into his mouth, quickly slipping the last few shirt buttons free. Her hips twitch toward him and she braces her hands on the couch on either side of his head. He puts his clever hands to work, circling each breast in turn, drawing nearer to the rosy peaks. Belle makes a small sound and he looks up at her. So beautiful, so eager… His love has her head thrown back, arms taught as she grips the back of the sofa. He feels her against his leg, hot and intimate, and still separated by too many layers of cloth. He pulls her close, kissing between her breasts before flicking his tongue to one taught nipple. She shudders, and he draws it further into his mouth, making her moan, low and needy, as he squeezes her other breast. She tilts her head and he follows, kissing up her neck and nipping gently. He finds the spot along her throat that makes her breath quicken and scrapes his teeth there, tasting her skin. She tangles one hand in his hair. "Easy, Rumple. I've still got my speech," she whispers. "Gentle. For now." He flicks his tongue to the spot he'd been worrying, inhaling sharply as she reached down to stroke him through his trousers.

"Belle…." She raises her head in response, scraping her nails against his scalp as he pulls her close for a passionate kiss. His hands dip low, ghosting across her belly,tugging her dress up, dragging his fingertips higher and higher up her thighs. She moves against him, but doesn't take her hand from him. A harder tug and he pulls back from her lips with a gasp. "Forget the speech, Belle," he pleads, eyes wide and dark and desperate. "Stay here. Fuck those people."

"I'd rather fuck you," she whispers huskily, rolling her hips against him.

"Gods, Belle," he groans, wild at hearing her sweet, beautiful voice gone deep with lust and saying such filthy things. He looks at her in love and wonder, every fiber of his being burning as she rises to her knees and busies herself with his belt. He draws one hand up between her legs, feeling her quiver. He tips his head back, burying one hand in her hair to bring her close for a passionate kiss. His other hand continues its path up, tracing his finger along the waist of what feels like a very interesting lacy concoction. She finally frees his belt without breaking their kiss and he takes his hand from her hair to tug his trousers down. He hooks his thumb in the waist the interfering lace and slowly pulls it down. She shifts off his lap, kneeling over his leg and wiggling her hips in a delicious way that's either meant to help or excite. Possibly both. "I wanted to see these, too," he whispers as she stands briefly.

"Mmm, later," she purrs. What remains of her dress is falling around her hips, leaving his view obscured as she bends and slips one leg free. But she does look wonderfully debauched he thinks as she straddles him, brushing her curls against his hardness and driving all coherent thoughts from his mind. His hands find her waist, fingers digging in as she reaches between them. She takes hold of him, guiding him against her hot, slick folds. He twitches toward her. "Belle," he pleads, voice barely above a whisper. She continues the small motions, bringing her other hand to his cheek. Suddenly, she sinks onto him, drawing a low moan from his lips as he fills her. She is still just for a moment before rolling her hips. He lifts in response, grabbing her bottom to push even deeper into her. She gasps in his ear, still the most delicious sound no matter how many times he hears it.

She slides along his length as they quicken the pace, gradually finding a rhythm that leaves them both panting. Belle braces her arms on the back of the sofa, cradling his face in her hands, her breath coming quick and shallow. She presses closer, chest to chest, belly to belly, pressing her lips to his. He feels his release building. He braces one foot against the floor, meeting her thrusts and making her cry out. He can tell she is close too, her every breath laced with small, desperate sounds. His fingers dig in where they grab her hip, her ass, urging her on. Let him leave marks here, he thinks with a growl, pushing harder into her. She keens and he clutches her to him. So close now. A few moments more and she cries out, her muscles clenching around him as she throws her head back, lost in rapture. He watches her as long as he can, but his own pleasure is not far behind and he screws his eyes shut. His hands clutch desperately at her, across her back, her waist, her trembling thighs, until his whole body shudders. He moans into her mouth, seeking her lips for a shaky, sloppy kiss, shuddering once more before going still. She lifts one hand to tentatively touch the hair at his temple, both of them breathless.

"Love you," she whispers, lifting on shaking legs just enough to ease him out of her. Her head drops, cheek pressed against his shoulder as he lets his head loll back against the sofa. He lifts one hand just enough to trace nonsensical patterns up and down her spine. For a few moments they are still, breath slowing, bodies cooling.

Belle gives a contented sigh. "You know what?" she asks into his neck.

"What, love?" He lifts his hand to stroke her hair.

"I don't remember a word of that speech I'm supposed to be giving."

Rumpelstiltskin laughs. "I think it goes 'Thank you for coming, everyone please leave immediately because I have to go home and have several more mind-blowing orgasms.'"

"Something like that, I'm sure," Belle smirks, raising up to kiss him, soft and gentle. She lifts from him and glances down between them. "Oh, we are a fright," she says. His shirt is splayed open across his chest, his trousers and boxers pooled at his feet. She still straddles him, the black underwear dangling off one ankle, the probably-ruined dress wrinkling around her middle. "And a bit sticky." she adds.

"Up!" he orders, gently pushing her off. She stands and he flicks his hand, encasing them both in purple mist. It swirls away a moment later and she looks down at herself. The now pristine dress gives no sign of the recent rumpling it had endured. Another glance tells her he's fixed his attire in a similar fashion.

"Thank you," she says, stepping around the edge of the sofa to retrieve her heels. "Did you get your cane?"

"Over there." He points. She slips into the heels and fetches the cane from under the table. When she straightens, it's clear that he has been staring. Belle smirks, sauntering over and offering him her free hand to pull him up from the couch.

"Behave," she warns, handing him the cane. He braces his hands on it and grins smugly.

"Don't I always?"

"Hmm." She makes a doubtful sound, straightening his tie. "There. Presentable."

"Only presentable?" She takes the arm he offers and he magics the door open for them.

"No, you do look very handsome tonight." She lifts up on her toes to kiss his cheek.

"Flattery will get you nowhere," he smiles. They round a corner and enter the gallery again. "Now go!" He smacks her bottom, making her jump. "Give your speech."

She twirls away, wagging a finger at him with a laugh. "I said behave! Honestly." She lifts her head, waving at someone across the room. "Ruby!" she calls, hurrying over. "Did you get everything for the welcome?"

* * *

Half an hour later, the coatcheck girl flips through a magazine in the now-empty lobby. Suddenly, she springs to her feet at the unmistakable sound cane against the marble floors. She is still pawing through the rack of coats behind the library check out counter when she hears a woman's laugh accompanying it. She looks up, wide-eyed, as Mr. Gold steps into the lobby with the beautiful Storybrook librarian on his arm.

"Sir!" the girl exclaims, going back to the rack. "Your coat is here somewhere…" She glances up, trying not to stare as Belle strokes his arm, looking up at Gold with a sly smile.

"Don't bother, dearie." He doesn't break stride, only waves his hand, making both coats appear on their shoulders in a swirl of purple. Belle giggles and tugs his arm, pulling them toward the door. "And tell your father I'll be by for the rent tomorrow…" He pauses in the doorway, turning back to look at the coatcheck girl with a wicked grin. "Afternoon."


End file.
